Interviewers, acquaintances,
actual and imaginary, beggars for themselves and for others, left their
cards and hung around. In the hotel they spoke of him with bated breath,
as though something of divinity attached itself to the person of the man
whose power for good or for evil was so far-reaching.
Meanwhile Phineas Duge, who had had a tiresome voyage, and who was not a
little fatigued, slept during the greater part of the morning following
his arrival, with his faithful valet encamped outside the door. The
first guest to be admitted, when at last he chose to rise, was
Littleson. It was close upon luncheon time, and the two men descended
together to the grillroom of the hotel.
"A quiet luncheon and a quiet corner," Littleson suggested, "some place
where we can talk. Duge, it's good to see you in London. I feel somehow
that with you on the spot we are safe."
Phineas Duge smiled a little dubiously. They found their retired corner
and ordered luncheon. Then Littleson leaned across the table.
"Duge," he said, "I'm thankful that we've made it up. Weiss cabled me
that you had come to terms, and that you were on your way over here to
deal with the other matter.
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